CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (read after txt) 📕

closest he's ever come to a live chicken is the far side of a fence. The High Park capybara escape is very real, though the involvement of non-human factors is hotly debated to this day. Vivian and Mason return in Exclusive Scoop from Secret Stairs: A Tribute to Urban Legend. Links to all of Trevor's books and stories, including his upcoming alt-history horror novel The Mummy of Monte Cristo coming out October 20, 2020, can be found at themummyofmontecristo.com.

The Great Chicken Escape

Cedar Sanderson

The Great Chicken Escape Cedar Sanderson

“The chickens escaped.”

Gertrude Saar’s voice cut through his focus. She loomed over where he was lying on his back peering up into the innards of the door.

Basdev “Bas” Anand didn’t look away from the panel he was inspecting. Whoever had designed this system had obviously never expected anyone to have to work on it again. Space station work was like that, he’d learned already. Over-engineered by guys who never had to fix anything.

“We can’t close the doors,” she said again after he didn’t immediately reply.

Bas snapped at her. “No shit, Gert. No one can close any doors.” He immediately felt contrite. “Sorry. It’s just… do you have any idea how many doors there are on a station this size? And how many engineering techs are aboard right now?” He rolled his head to the side so he could see the husbandry tech. She seemed flustered. Her normally neat hair flew up and out like a dandelion’s puff. Her jumpsuit was streaked with what he hoped was good clean dirt, but it probably wasn’t.

Bas had been given a list with strict priority of doors to repair first. However, as lead tech for this section, he figured some wiggle room was necessary.

“Do you need me to come there, next?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Thought you should know. Since they got into the park.”

Bas closed his eyes. He wasn’t a religious man, but he muttered something that might have been a prayer, then opened his eyes again. “Does Beetroot… er, Mr. Chamberlain know yet?”

She grinned, lightening her tired face and making her look closer to her real age. “That is a good name for him. He does get dangerously red when alarmed. No, I don’t think so.”

“Angry,” Bas corrected, wiggling back under the door again. He had it levered up enough to just reach. “He gets red when angry. I’ll put your chicken door on the list.”

“Thank you.” Gert stumped away in her heavy work boots.

Bas recalled his correction of her word choice not long after that. He had succeeded in repairing the door he’d been working on when Gertrude had interrupted him. One of the section doors, the heavy blast plates were a big safety issue if they could not be closed and locked.

He had assigned his team each one of those to start. Now, filthy from rolling on the floor and sweaty from wrestling components into place, he was lugging his bag toward the next door on the list, one of the shelter doors that could turn the park into a safe place in case of air loss deep into the station. He came around a corner and nearly collided with Gaven Chamberlain, the head of parks.

“You!” Chamberlain was an alarming shade of near-brick red. He thrust a finger toward Bas’s chest. “You must fix the doors.”

“Er. I am working on it?” Bas hefted the heavy bag he was holding and tried to sidestep the man. Chamberlain was not his boss, but he was a boss, and accustomed to holding sway in his fiefdom.

Chamberlain sidestepped and blocked the corridor again. “There is livestock in the park. In. The. Park.” He repeated the words through gritted teeth.

“I have orders…” A flicker of movement behind Chamberlain caught Bas’s eye, and he faltered as he identified what was walking toward them.

“Pay attention! My doors must come first… What are you looking at?”

What Bas was looking at was a confident chicken, reddish-blonde in color, striding up the middle of the corridor. Gert had said specifically chickens. “Ah, sir, what sort of livestock?”

Chamberlain spun around. “Chicken!”

The chicken slowed her strut, and looked up at them with a beady eye. She didn’t stop, though.

Chamberlain waved his arms. “Shoo! Shoo!”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s—” Bas stopped talking. The big man had charged the fowl.

Bas was torn between laughing, which might make the parks manager pop a blood vessel, and getting to the next door with all haste. He opted for the door.

Chamberlain, in full flight after the fluttering, running bird, didn’t even notice Bas slip away down a side corridor. Bas knew the entire station inside and out. It was how he had met Gertrude. He’d gotten a work order to build a chicken coop, only one that went vertical for space saving, and he’d shown up in the husbandry corridor wanting to talk to a subject matter expert before he started designing the thing. Having an on-call SME was always a good plan.

Gertrude loved her chickens. This had to be very upsetting to her. Bas was confident the chicken Chamberlain had been menacing would be fine. The chicken had to be able to outmaneuver the big guy, if nothing else. Bas was a little sorry he hadn’t been able to linger long enough to see the outcome. However, there were bigger fish to fry. He nodded awkwardly to a man sitting at his dining table as he passed yet another open door. He didn’t stop. Personal spaces were way down on the list for repair, as inconvenient as that was for the general population.

Bas reached his destination and set his bag down then himself. He blessed the gods he was still young and limber enough to wriggle into the confined spaces. He’d come aboard the station seven years before, and the station had been in full operation for over a decade. He sometimes wished he had been around while it was being built, though. Then he would know whose